


Theodicy

by the_blue_fairie



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25795219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_blue_fairie/pseuds/the_blue_fairie
Summary: The night of Elsa's birth, Iduna is alone with her thoughts.
Relationships: Agnarr/Iduna (Disney)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	Theodicy

When their firstborn came into the world, the most delicate crystals of ice blanketed Arendelle.

“An unexpected meteorological phenomenon,” the printer called them in the proclamations he made, but meteorology could hardly account for marvels… and this… this was magical.

From the window, the softest of snowflakes swirled, settling into a garland upon the baby’s brow as Iduna held her.

Iduna knew magic, had grown up alongside magic.

As Elsa’s eyes fluttered open, shaking away the snowflakes about her so that they glided back to where they had come, not melting into ice-water cold and clammy but gliding to join the buzz of the other snow-bees beyond the window, Iduna thought of home.

Gift of the spirits.

Gift for her.

Something to hold close to her heart, some reminder of what once was, reminder of a world from which she was forever barred, something special that was her own…

But not something. Someone.

(Gift for what?)

(“Only Ahtohallan knows.”)

(This is _someone._ A child whose hands are soft and wrinkled, whose heart beats close to mine. A child who is _herself._ )

(“Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? declare, if thou hast understanding.”)

(Herself. Not an extension of her mother. Not a… vicariousness.)

Iduna had always felt a solace in her own faith that she did not feel in the royal chapel of Arendelle. The earth beneath her feet was warm, the silver waters cool, the air swirling about her and catching her hair playful as delight – even the flames consuming the dusky trees were soothing in their way – closer than the god of this place, nearer than heaven’s light…

And yet, the more she tried to feel the world around her in this moment, the more she tried to grip the stone, let the waters wash about her, breathe the air, behold the new green breaking from the blackened fire-dominion… the more the spirits felt as untouchable as the god whose whirlwind did not caress her hair but expressed his own invincibility… whose fire stood impassable… whose earth cracked open to swallow his children whole… whose waters crashed and foamed in mane-tangle, in trampling hooves…

( _Is that ingratitude? Ingratitude for the gift?_ )

(No!)

She had never thought of her faith as a faith of guilt. Arendelle’s god, _his_ was a faith of guilt, but _her_ faith…

Her faith was the same.

Ingratitude implied bitterness when it was _love_ that stirred the question in her, love for Elsa who she held in her arms, love for a person who is not an imprint, not a gift to be given – and, if a gift, then a gift in herself…

(For that love, must she repent in dust and ashes?)

She would not.

( _Accept the gift. Accept the peace it brings your heart to feel this link to magic once again._ ) 

(It is not mine to accept, not my life being lived.)

To collapse before the awe of God was a thing foreign to Iduna.

There was awe in the world, yes, but the world was around her – like a scarf, like a shawl she wrapped around herself.

The god of Arendelle was above.

To swathe divinity around oneself instead of falling before it was Pride, Pride exultant. Pride was how she differentiated between her faith and Arendelle’s, but now, holding an infant bereft of choice in the mirror of whose eyes she saw her own suffering reflected, Iduna felt…

Hollow.

Even she, in the chaos, had a _choice_ – carrying Agnarr with her, golden head hanging limp…

Her daughter had a choice too, as a proud leader had a choice to turn to a foreign king, lands strangled by a mighty dam. A gift.

Iduna had not even those shards of memory to gird about her.

She smothered her daughter’s brow in kisses and held her close, praying for clarity like a guilty thing and abhorring what that meant.


End file.
